


Good Kind of Hurt

by hannahrhen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cheerful Perversion, Consensual Kink, Established Relationship, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Spanking, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 04:45:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3797212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahrhen/pseuds/hannahrhen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And sometimes Dean thought Cas was just shitting him, because no way you’re an angel that long, spying on everyone’s private business for millennia, and not see some kinky-ass shit going down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Kind of Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> Some people specialize in cardiothoracic surgery. I specialize in [spanking fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=Spanking&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=0&commit=Sort+and+Filter&user_id=hannahrhen). Embrace your specialty, whatever it may be.

Like pretty much everything embarrassing that had ever happened in Dean’s life, it was Sam’s fault.

Three jokes in just over a week about spanking something: once in the context of something Dean had killed, which was both accurate and appreciated, but, unfortunately, twice about “it,” and “it” clearly meant--

“Just ‘it,’ Cas!” he huffed when Cas was peering at him with those baby blues and Sam was backing out of the room behind Cas’ back, with exaggerated silent laughter and shitty “gotcha!” fingers pointing back at Dean.

Which led to, yeah, that conversation about “why does spanking in that context denote a sexual activity, Dean? Isn’t it mainly used in certain cultures for punishing children?”

Why was this his life.

“Yeah, listen,” Dean replied, suddenly really fuckin’ tired. “Yeah, it’s mainly used for punishment, but--I dunno, sometimes people get their wires crossed or something and ...  think it’s hot, too. People are into all kinds of weird shit, Cas. _All kinds_ of weird shit. Spanking is ... well, spanking’s pretty mild.” He breathed. “For all the things people can get into. ... You know.”

And that was weak but it was the best he could do when he was being looked at that way.

And sometimes Dean thought Cas was just shitting him, because no way you’re an angel that long, spying on everyone’s private business for millennia, and not see some kinky-ass shit going down. Cas should _know_ , dammit. But Cas had that “butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth” look, like it was day one and he was trying to understand humanity all over again. Like he hadn’t had a front-row seat to the Winchester brand of weird shit for so many years.

And “I feel like this requires a practical demonstration, Dean,” was all it took to know that Dean was being put on a bit, but if the outcome was getting to punish his troublesome little angel with extreme prejudice, well, Dean was all on board. And, yes, thank you, he would be the one doing the punishing, because it already was hard enough maintaining any kind of self-control when Cas was being a B-A-M-F in Dean’s direction, already hard not to duck his head and mutter assent when Cas was in his face telling him what to do, Dean biting back the "yessirs" that were almost always on the tip of his tongue.

Add getting turned over Cas’ knee to the mix? Dean would blow over like a house of cards.

So that’s how they ended up in Dean’s room on a night when Sam was out of the place, because _no way in hell_ was he risking getting busted doing this. Dean was sitting on the edge of the bed, feet firmly on the floor, sticking his eyebrows up at Cas because who knew what they were supposed to do next?

Cas, apparently: “Do you want me over your lap?” He eyed Dean’s posture critically, so, with all the benevolence he could muster and one long, indulgent sigh, Dean pulled back just far enough to make room for one solid six-foot dude to lay across his legs.

But when Cas went to cross the room, still totally decked out in his wrinkled button-down oxford and jeans, Dean held up a hand. “Uh-uh. Pants down. Underwear, too.” And Cas had the nerve to look surprised before he took a long inhale, moved his fingers to his fly, and said, slow and serious, “I’m _beginning_ to understand the erotic potential.”

Dean kinda had to admit he liked watching Cas shuffle across the floor with his pants and briefs around his calves, sweet little bare toes peeking out under the folds of drooping fabric. Waited until Cas was right there before slapping his palms on his thighs, a little “come here” gesture with what he thought was his best encouraging smile. It had been called a "shit-eating grin," but what did Sam know?

But then, instead of sprawling over Dean’s lap and letting the games begin, Cas was suddenly huge-eyed and asking, “Is it going to hurt?” like ... that was _just then_ occurring to him?

Dean’s hands froze on the tops of his thighs, smile melting away a little. He watched Cas chew on his lip, which was sweet and adorable and the other side of B-A-M-F Cas, why Dean sometimes was more than willing to whisper "yessir" in one of those ears, because this was how they _rolled._ So he reached out, touched just the side of his hip and rubbed a thumb over the bare skin. “S’posed to hurt a little, man. But it’s the _good_ kind of hurt, you know?” Cas knew--Dean _knew_ Cas knew this. They’d been screwing around for the better part of a year, and Dean had gotten a little rough at times, and so had Cas, and they both were damned well acquainted with the good kind of hurt that only made things _better._

But Cas still looked like he needed assurance. “I won’t do it too hard--promise,” he said, and reached out for Cas’ hand. “And you know you can ask me to stop any time, baby,” and the “baby” was a little goad, sure, because it nudged Cas from hesitation into sure thing almost every time.

So Dean got to have the fun of watching Cas awkwardly twist and bend himself down over Dean’s knee, spreading those gorgeous arms and legs all over the bedcovers and actually _presenting_ himself.

_Oh, my God._ All that pretty pink ass, that fuckin’ Castiel-brand bubble butt tilted up and just waiting for his hand? Yeah, just how could _this_ be interpreted as sexual? He ran a palm over Cas’ full cheeks, just lightly, and heard the soft sigh it drew out.

Erotic potential--fuck, yeah.

“You want it?” He petted the silky soft back of Cas’ thighs, teased him a little with a fingertip in between the join of his legs to watch him squirm some more.

“Yes, Dean,” and that was pretty ... yeah. _Yeah._ Before Dean’s cock had a chance to think about that one, he brought his hand up and then dropped it again with a light slap.

Wasn’t ready for Cas to jerk, but Dean had him held tight with his other arm across Cas' lower back, and there was no chance of Cas slipping--slipping _away_ \--when he moved a little and just said, a tiny, quiet word: “Oh.”

“Like that?” Dean said, not sure which way he meant it, like or _like_ , but Cas just shifted a little over his thighs and said, absolute, “Yes, Dean.”

Oh, God.

He rubbed over the swell of Cas’ ass again--again, lifted his hand. _Again_ , brought it down just a little harder this time. Liked the sound of the smack as Dean’s flesh met Cas’.

With just another little “oh.”

Probably not worth interrogating him every time. Hell, Cas would say if it wasn’t working for him, and nothing about those surprised little exhalations and those restless limbs said stop. So, Dean went for three, four, and five in nice, medium-impact blows, really moving into the spanking portion of the evening, ladies and gentlemen, though he stopped after the fifth and rubbed, soothing, at Cas again.

Listened for the “oh,” but the sound he got wasn’t really a recognizable word. More of a whine. Dean shifted Cas over his legs a little, pulled him down to bring that blushing ass closer to Dean’s hand, to be able to give it to Cas that much better.

Six through ten were delivered even, firm, and without hesitation. It was after the tenth that Cas breathed Dean’s name and Dean was all, immediately, “You okay, baby?”

And he already knew the answer--could feel it in the hard dick pressing into the outside of his thigh, which, yeah, was another part of the reason he moved Cas a little bit. Wanted to feel that. Dean’s own cock was still trapped in his jeans, really frickin’ confused by the proximity to its best friend without any direct contact going on.

“Yes,” he heard, and it sounded a little uneven, a little cracked. “Please,” which was amazing. Someone was getting a crash course in the good kind of hurt. He pushed up Cas’ shirt to get his free hand on all that skin, stroked the upper part of Cas’ thighs again until he got a little hum, and then went for round two.

He loved--loved!--the way the strikes sounded across the little room, that tiny reverb that matched the jiggle of Cas’ flesh as it recovered from each blow. Loved watching those cheeks go flushed, then rosy, then a hot cherry red because Dean made it happen. Loved the sweet little noises Cas made, each “oh!” and “unh!” like he was freshly surprised by the palm landing sharp and stinging on his asscheeks, like he hadn’t signed up for just exactly this, and then a grunt as he moved away from and back into the pain, rubbing his erect cock against the unforgiving solidity of Dean’s muscle.

Watching Cas’ arms and legs twist, those toes kicking into the sheets a little to relieve his tension, Dean kind of realized he could keep doing this for awhile. A lot. Which meant it was probably time to--

Cas bucked himself up into Dean’s hand, so the final blow when it landed hard and close-up really counted for double, and Cas’ cry was ... wow, close to an actual cry, for real, which meant it was time to stop, safeword be damned. Sometimes Cas wanted to know Dean’s weird shit too much for his own good. He tugged Cas up, got him in place straddling Dean’s thighs with his weight mostly taken by the mattress, because Dean was a masochist but not stupid, and this time looked up himself at Cas’ flushed face.

Didn't wait for Cas to stop panting, to blink himself out of his fugue before he asked, “Do you feel you were punished enough?” with an echo of that shit-eating grin, knowing it was just a moment before his hand was grabbed and brought to press against and thoroughly service Cas’ cock.

Cas just smiled and, yeah, lifted Dean’s hand, but instead he kissed the aching palm as he shuffled snug into Dean’s body. “I don’t know,” he answered, deep and sweet and fuckin’ amused. “Do you really think that was punishment?”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Find me on tumblr](http://hannahrhen.tumblr.com)! And thank you for reading!


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